watercolor and ink painting of yellow flower by emily weil

daily painting | sunny yellows

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I wanted to paint this yellow flower as it is as bright and comforting as the chilly but welcome sunshine here in soggy California. A dear friend who is especially kind to me in this time of loss brought this bouquet to me along with yet another bountiful bag of delicious lemons from her tree. So I did this simple card to say thank you.

My living room is looking a bit more comfy and orderly in the absence of buckets and bowls and puppy pee pads and soaked upholstered chairs, as the rains have subsided for now. Looks like a new roof is soon on my horizon and I admit that a drippy ceiling during the atmospheric river pushed me over the edge into the drink (I think it was putting plastic bags and towels on my bed that turned me into a screaming meemie). And yet, these are not big complaints as my home wasn’t carried away by a mudslide, my business didn’t get inundated by the Pacific Ocean, a tree didn’t crash into my bedroom and I am still upright (while driving across the San Rafael bridge in those storms to see my brother was a bit nutty).

I feel unhinged most of the time, and I’m learning to just accept it. My brother is slowly declining, and I had the shock the other day of realizing he could be here a few more months so I have to adjust my caregiving accordingly as I’m pooped; in my wildest dreams I didn’t see him making it to 2023 (he was diagnosed with aggressive brain cancer last April). But he’s still mostly lucid (though very fatigued) and we have sweet and intimate conversations and I will forever cherish these times.

I feel awful most of the time. And I am often swept away by moments of deep gratitude (like right now when the reflections from the water outside do magical dances on my kitchen ceiling). What a mix! Life is so nutty. And I’m showing up for it. Every effing day. 

7″ x 10″ ink, watercolor on paper

 

 

 

daily painting | seattle sunflower

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Drip management. That may sound like a description of online dating, but it’s about my roof. I’ve had four contractors up there over the past two years smearing sealant around but still I need to line up the bowls and buckets on my living room floor. Fingers crossed the seemingly competent roofer that came last week to inspect and offer advice will arrive to finally and literally seal the deal. And soon.

This kind of stuff can really freak me out — my home! It’s violated! I do enjoy that lovely chorus of raindrops on my roof, even if accented by the splashes of the leaks plopping into the bowls. I strategically line up the puppy pee pads on the floor in case the drips migrate and miss the bowls (terrifically absorbent; I use them for the bottom of my guinea pig cage).

But now that I’m a relic of “mid-century” (born in the 1950s), I’ve learned a few things. Like how life always has challenges and problems to figure out. And how to adapt and fix things and relax; a solution will sooner or later present itself. Might as well keep going and enjoy life’s amazingness.

Like a good book! I’ve decided that since I’ve never read them, I’m going to read the Harry Potter series; now’s a good time as my brain operates at about the level of a third-grader. And they’re terrific. Good to read about magic and wizardry and owls that deliver the mail. A lovely relief from grief and death. I tell ya, I’m learning a few things.

Happy New Year.

[painting from photo of sunflowers taken in October in my sister’s neighborhood in Seattle]

10″ x 10″ ink, watercolor, pencil, acrylic on paper

 

 

 

watercolor of dog by emily weil

daily painting | loki

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I hope your holidays are sane and warm and safe and that you did not spend Christmas in an airport (wouldn’t it be nice if the airlines treated us like humans?). This little guy Loki was a commission for a Christmas present, and much fun to paint. 

With a lot of help we got my bro into friend Sue’s house for a fabulous Christmas feast. It took some doing — wheelchairs are cumbersome and he’s a tall man — and was a bit risky, for he gets fatigued easily, and crashes hard once tired. But it worked! And I had much help. I think it was fun for him — he wore a very dapper derby hat with a red feather and looked quite handsome.

This is Jim’s last Christmas, and his demise is slow as the brain cancer advances, but I’m told there may be a tipping point in the next weeks with a possible sudden decline. I would welcome that, so he’s done with this awful march of glio sarcoma through his neurons; he’s going into the 9th month of this sorrowful journey. My heart feels like it’s in a box of broken glass, but so far my homicidal urges have been restrained toward certain callous, cold-blooded individuals in Jim’s orbit. And such is the grief path I am on. I am getting more skilled at showing myself compassion as my emotions take me down this bumpy, harrowing path. I’ve given up on trying to be warmly social in human gatherings and I’m OK with that. I’m civilized — that I can manage; I haven’t snarled at anyone in awhile. One helpful outlet is to open my window while driving on the freeway and scream. Very cathartic but it makes my throat scratchy (no one notices, ever).

Grief is hard. There’s very little room in this world for expressions of raw pain and emotion. So it’s pretty lonely sometimes. And it’s weird but I also am finding this to be a time of amazing healing and love and connection, for my moments with my brother are sweet and precious and as we hang out together I find that some of my childhood pain is mending. And as I write this I am chuckling at the purring noises my guinea pig makes when he hears the chirping mobs of finches and sparrows outside at the bird feeder. They are conversing. 

Sending new year love to you all. Isn’t it something? We keep showing up and putting one foot in front of the other. I’m proud of that.  

8″ x 10″ ink, watercolor, pencil, acrylic on paper

 

 

 

daily painting | grief in technicolor

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My heart is full. There is such gob-smacking beauty in the world — earlier this week as I drove home from visiting the bro in San Rafael I was listening to Anderson Cooper’s podcast on grief (highly recommended). His mother, Gloria Vanderbilt, had a rough and lonely childhood and lost one son to suicide yet she embraced art and beauty in her life and loved the crazy juxtaposition of the heart-searing losses in life alongside the beautiful moments she experienced each day (“It’s about what is, not what if”). As I quietly cried, listening to the podcast (while carefully navigating the heavy traffic through Berkeley) I was amazed at how shattered my heart is with grief even as I marveled at the sunset over San Francisco (to my right) and the rainbow over the Berkeley hills (to my left). I am learning with humility to embrace all of life — loss, terror, joy, rage, gratitude, thrilling love and spectacular presentations from nature. It’s all just magnificent. I also heard of a book I must get, Our Book of Awesome, written by Neil Pasricha, a man whose wife left him at the same time his best friend committed suicide. He realized that every day life gives us tiny, brilliant flashes that we can embrace with wonder and awe. In this spectacular moment I aspire to keep my heart open and pay attention.  

10″ x 10″ ink, watercolor, pencil, acrylic on paper = $130

 

 

 

watercolor and acrylic abstract painting by emily weil

daily painting | december.

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Well sports fans get out the bucket and hang it on the tree for I’m about to get sappy. Some people scoff at the popularity of the movie, “Love Actually,” which came out 20 years ago. I’m in love with it. I usually watch it every year as I enjoy its Christmas theme (and Bill Nighy’s performance is priceless) and frankly it helps me keep my heart open so I can better see how much love is in the world, and in my life. I’d frankly rather be cynical and be a self-protected hermit — it’s safer and is usually my default point of view (John Donne may have said that no man is an island, but some of us are inner tubes [I stole that line from a book]). In my time of grief, I tend to tuck myself in and keep my distance as I nurse my wounds and soothe my sadness. Which is appropriate and it’s often what I need (like today when I have the energy of a dead slug). But I aspire to live my life wide open and with love and trust and faith as that vulnerability is rewarding and surpising, in happy and sparkly and unexpected ways.

May our holidays be sane and that we notice small, wonderful, miraculous moments that bring us hope and connection and comfort (one of my treats a few days ago — watching a soggy and healthy-looking Cooper’s Hawk on a telephone pole with its wings out and its tail feathers spread, drying off after the rains; it was a gorgeous bird).

[Finished this painting at home today. Don’t forget to stop by Frank Bette Center in Alameda for the Holiday Boutique sale this coming weekend and check out my small paintings and other artsy holiday gifts!]

10″ x 10″ ink, watercolor, pencil, acrylic on paper = $130

 

 

 

ink and watercolor painting of berries by emily weil

daily painting | berries

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As I write this, a watercolor painting is drying in the sun. I thought I would post this class demo done a few weeks ago (a quick one of red berries) and say hello (join my next workshop, “Watercolor and Sticks and Ink” at Frank Bette Center in Alameda in January!). 

Here’s today’s book review (I know, you’ve been holding your breath). I’m reading Auntie Mame, a memoir written by her orphaned nephew, Patrick Dennis. I was expecting a fun romp and an inspirational read about a one-of-a-kind woman who lived life on her terms. And it is an interesting recollection about a lost era in Manhattan, but it also has dark undertones and an undercurrent of sadness, for Patrick had lost both parents, Auntie Mame was a bit of a self-absorbed hedonist even though she loved her nephew, and I suppose I am projecting my own biases when I say that the characters of the book are a bit shallow and racist (if fun, and fun-loving, and interesting). The Broadway play based on the book seems to have been a sanitized version of the story, as was the movie with Rosalind Russell (but her performance was stellar). 

So… why was I attracted to this book, after I’d read a reference to it in the NYT? I think I wanted to read about a strong woman (and boy howdy she was that). And I wanted to have a read that would take me away into another world (checkmark next to that item as well). So why does it make me feel slightly melancholy? Well, duh, lots of things make me sad these days. But Auntie Mame for all her vivaciousness and ability to survive seems hollow and someone with the depth of a paper towel. She just doesn’t grab me. But I’m not done with the book yet. 

OK, going back to my painting. I surely am enjoying my quiet, sunny house today and soon I’ll head out for bike ride out in the lovely but chilly sun. Then I’ll come home and make a nice dinner and have a happy hour cocktail and feed my guinea pig and tomorrow will return to brother-care, something I am grateful to be able to do.

10″ x 10″ ink, watercolor on paper

 

 

 

daily painting | barbara, ree-ree

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Barbara has been a model with the Bay Area Models Guild for 30 years. This was a quickie painting done of her exquisite face from the Zoom gallery during last weekend’s drawing marathon. Damn I wish I’d taken a secret and illegal screenshot of her pose so I could do it again! But this shows her character and essence, I think. She wore this marvelous sequined red hat and I found myself wishing I could hear all her modeling stories. Now, how to work in another sister story? Hm. Choppy segue here but I want to write about yesterday’s email exchange with Dawn, a life-long friend of my sister’s from childhood. Dawn wrote to me and my brother asking for a few more details about my sister Kay that she was curious about, like her name. As a kid, Kay (born Kathleen) had the nickname Ree-ree, which morphed into a few other ree-lated monikers (I crack myself up!). Never occurred to me to ask the origin story of that name, but since my brother was 11 years old when Kathy was born, he remembers stuff. He said that when Kathy was a tot learning how to talk, “ree-ree” was her way of saying “raisin” and it stuck. Funny how the small things that seem innocuous or even adorable can dissolve me into a soggy, mushy puddle. Which happened last night, under the full moon. A big wet mess up on my deck to match the accumulation of rainwater that caused the Christmas night leak, and a new year’s thanks to Vern who just left after flushing out the drain. And it’s likely my tear ducts will be leaking out my sorrow again soon. And that’s a good and healthy thing.

7″ x 7″ water-soluble graphite, pen on paper

 

 

 

daily painting | maker farm hoofer

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A couple of days ago I grabbed my bike to get outdoors and try to outride the dark thoughts creeping in under my eyebrows. I enjoy riding down the estuary to where the shipping cranes on- and off-load the hulking, ocean-traveling ships. Such a funky, interesting mix of sights and scenes — the clanking of the primary-colored containers as they are loaded onto the ships, small sailboats dwarfed by enormous rust-stained hulls, maybe some cute little oystercatchers pecking at tidbits at the tide’s edge with their cartoony, orange beaks; a few folks living in their RVs, humans letting their pets loose at the dog run. It’s so splashy and unsanitized. Nearby is a fun nursery called Ploughshares, a collaborative operation and a good spot to buy plants for your garden and support the local community. I was delighted to ride past their spot and see folks with rakes cleaning up an open lot alongside backhoes moving dirt around, sheep chomping on composted refuse and piglets wrestling with each other in the mud. Turns out Maker Farm, which had been next door to my marina, found their new home. They let me come in the gate and photograph the activities, and this friendly and curious hoofer came over to say hello. It’s a kind of figure drawing, right? Sheepy, shaggy models. These unexpected and fun moments are such a relief from dodging grief bombs. Last night, while out on my deck, a Great Blue Heron swung around the corner of my house and flew within a few feet of me. I could hardly catch my breath, it was such a magnificent surprise. Beats hell out of dodging raindrops dripping through my ceiling onto my bed in the middle of the night, but that’s another adventure too boring to describe. A Christmas night wake-up, but it’s OK now. Moving soggily onward.

7.5″ x 7.5″ watercolor, pen, acrylic spats on paper = $75

 

 

 

daily painting | painting marathon

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The Bay Area Models Guild has several drawing/painting marathons a year. Yesterday’s was the first one on Zoom and it worked great (I’ve gone to previous events held at Fort Mason in SF). Rather than roaming through various rooms looking for different kinds of models (and lengths of poses), I wandered through the Zoom gallery. It was great fun. Wasn’t sure I’d like it, but I miss painting the figure and yesterday satisfied a need I’d forgotten I had. It’s like a celebration of all kinds of shapes and sizes of bodies as well as a myriad of artists’ styles (I think 300 artists participated!). Life as a rich feast. Because in these days of quarantine I spend so much time alone (and it does get to me), seeing all those drawing and painting possibilities on my screen was delicious. I enjoyed myself thoroughly and painted for four of the five scheduled hours (no wonder I’m tired today!). It was a last-minute holiday gift (thank you Laurie Wigham for the announcement). I’ll post another pic tomorrow.

8″ x 8″ water-soluble graphite, pen on paper

 

 

 

daily painting | horsey memories

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Ok today is blast-from-the-past Christmas Eve blog day. I did this painting years ago, from a photo I took of a happy trip to the Rockies to ride horses one summer. Had a ball (I think my friend Diane bought this painting?). Anyways, 10 years or so ago, after my life-changing event of attending an art workshop at Esalen where I was encouraged by the teacher to take myself seriously as an artist, I had to choose — art or horses? Art won. No regrets, but I miss riding. Yesterday a dear old friend from those days came by to buy several of my Emily Weil art masks. Haven’t seen her in eons; we rode horses out of the same barn in the Oakland hills. I asked her when she came by to please bring a horse — if not a horse, then could she please rub some horseshit in her hair so I could enjoy the memory-laden aromas? She brought me a ziplock bag of straw and manure mucked out from the stalls. It properly stunk, and was wonderful. Best Christmas present ever as it brought belly laughs and a wonderful visit with an old barn friend. Thank you, Jamin. It made me appreciate the different chunks of my life that I have experienced through the years, from horses to painting to traveling the world to raising kids in Oregon to the bumpy road of healing childhood wounds to life on a houseboat. What a damn ride this is! And I’m still vertical (even if listing to the starboard side).

6″ x 9″ watercolor paper